


A Mortality-Tale Ending

by telemachus



Series: Rising-verse [47]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Halls of Mandos, Halls of Waiting, M/M, bedtime tale for elflings, myth-making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mortals have fairytales. Elves - elflings - have mortality-tales. </p><p>Some tales contain history. Some tales have happy endings.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mortality-Tale Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Caradhil, and his descendants, are my own characters. It is probably clear who they are, but in case it isn't, Caradhil is a long-time friend of Legolas, who follows him to Ithilien post-Ring War, and has his own story in Red Star Rising....... Taithel is son of Caradhil, Caradhlas is son of Taithel.

_History becomes Legend,  
Legend becomes Myth._

 

Caradhil stops, unseen outside the glade, he pauses, listens.

“Tell us, Ada, tell us a story.”  
“Tell us, tell us while we comb.”  
“Please Ada.”  
“Please.”  
“Daerada will correct you if you go wrong.”

Caradhil smiles. Yes, that is a bad habit Taithel caught from him. Poor Caradhlas. Still, he thinks, he does not look bad on it. And he has three lovely children. And a wife. So, he is doing better than either his father or grandfather.

Caradhlas sighs,  
“Which story?”

There is a pause. Caradhil imagines the elflings looking at each other. Communicating with their eyes – he has always envied those with siblings, those who are able to know each other so well as this. 

Perhaps a life without One is less lonely then.

“The Elf who Died.”  
“Yes, Ada. Please.”  
“Ada-of-us-all is not here. It is alright to have that tale. Please Ada.”

What is this? There is a story he is not to hear? Caradhil decides he will stay where he is for now, he will hear this forbidden tale. 

“Oh, very well,” he hears his grandson say, “the Elf who Died. 

“Once upon a time, long ago, when the world was different, there were many types of elves. There were Silvans who lived here, like us, there were proud, cunning Galadhrim, who had many skills with bow and magic, and lived west, in an enchanted forest where the trees were made of gold. They were beautiful but their hearts were cold, and they were strange to us. Further away lived the Noldor, and they were dark of hair, dark of eyes and wise in many things, but they had no love in their hearts for our trees. No care for such things.

“But in this Forest, in our Forest, there were other elves. They were Sindar. And we loved them, for they were wise, and kind, and ruled us with a strength none then knew Silvans could have. Beautiful they were, with hair like gold, and whatever the sorrows fate brought them, they cared for us, and kept us safe, away from the world while all outside our borders turned dark and ominous.

“For those were the days of the growing of power of the Enemy, the servant of Morgoth, the Necromancer, and even into this fair Forest of ours, evil crept. But we were cared for by our Sindar, and all was well in our land.

“Then came the tidings of the new fight, then summoned the Noldor a council, that all might decide how to end this evil, and we – we were afraid. No Silvan would want to go amongst those others, those strange elves, those not-elves. But someone must go. And we looked to our Sindar to protect us, as they ever did. The King could not go – a King must stay in his land – “

“Like Ada-of-us-all?”

“Yes, like Ada-of-us-all, but – if you interrupt, I will not be able to finish,” Caradhil can imagine the stern warning glare – and he knows, as the elflings know, it means nothing. No elfling in this kingdom is ever left with a tale unfinished, with hair uncombed, with tears undried. 

“Anyway, the King had three sons. But the eldest two – they did not wish to go – ‘let us stay here, they said. This is our home. We are elves, we do not wish to be with not-elves’. And the King was sorry not to send them, for he loved them dearly, and honoured their skill with sword and word, but he would not force them to do what they did not wish. Then the last son, the youngest prince, he said, ‘I will go. I will go to this council, I will spend time among not-elves, I will serve my land. Please, my lord king, I will go – though I do not know the way’.

“Now, the King was reluctant to send this prince, because he was the youngest, he was not skilled with sword, nor with words, though he was as fine an archer as any has ever seen, and he could fight with knives, as well as any Silvan. But – there was no other to send, and so the youngest prince was chosen. He must go alone, for the King would not risk any other on this journey. Yes, the King, our last Sindar King, he loved us so much, he would give his last-begotten son for us.”

No, Caradhil thinks, no, that is not quite how it was. He leans against a tree, trying to hear only the story, not to remember the history behind it. I do not want to feel that pain again, he thinks, but – oh my sweet prince. 

“Indeed,” Caradhlas continues, “one there was, one Silvan who wished to go, to stay with the prince, but the King said no. The King said it was not necessary, that the prince would be safer alone. And the prince – the prince said to his servant, his friend, that no, all would be well, this was a quest for him alone, and the loyal one must stay here, must serve the King and keep a place in the Forest for him to return.”

“So the prince went alone?”  
“All alone among not-elves?”  
“Some were elves, though, were they not?”  
“Not proper elves, not Silvans.”  
“But he was not Silvan.”

“He was more Silvan than any Sindar before or since. And yes, he went alone. He journeyed to Imladris – and many roads it was, many days, many dangers to pass. But he arrived safe, for his skill with bow, and knife, and horse was beyond any other. And then – then he became part of another tale.” Caradhlas pauses,

“Frodo of the Nine-Fingers!”  
“The War of the Ring!”  
“The Great Quest, and the passing of the Third Age!”

“Yes. Well done. You all know that tale, do you not?” again, the pause, and Caradhil supposes the elflings must be showing they do, “Yes, you do, you know it well. And you remember how in that time, there were many battles, and in each battle the prince kept a count of enemies slain – as Sindar do – and so too did Another. And in each battle it became a competition, to see who could slay the most – as Sindar do when they court – even when they know not what their heart tells them. 

“At the end of that quest, the prince had succeeded, beyond the hope of any, he had brought down –“

“An oliphaunt!”  
“Yes, Ada, an oliphaunts!  
“All alone!”

“Well, yes, but also – does anyone know what else?” there is silence. I know, thinks Caradhil, I know. I do not wish to name it, but I know. “One of the winged evil, one so evil that only the prince could slay him with an arrow. For he was an archer beyond compare, and so brave, so skilled that yes, he brought down an oliphaunt all alone. For he feared it would hurt the one he loved, though even then, being a Sindar, he did not understand his heart, and called it friendship. Yet for the sake of that – friendship – he spent time in caves, while the one he loved spent time in a forest, though he was a dwarf, and not one to understand trees.”

There is a shocked intake of breath, as much part of the tale, Caradhil realises, as any words. Oh my elflings, he thinks, you act shocked, though you know this tale, though you know we trade with dwarves, we have ties with dwarves, guest-friendships even. Can you ever begin to imagine how it was to hear this new, with the lesson of years that no dwarf can be trusted for anything beyond work paid for and contracted tightly?

“And so, at last, the prince came home to our Forest, while his beloved – though they did not understand themselves to be so – went home to his mountain. 

“When the prince came home, there was great rejoicing, all were so pleased to see him again, to hear of his courage, his battles, his victories. ‘Ion-nin’ the King said, ‘much honour and renown you have won in this quest, this time. Now I can say to you, you are the one I will choose to lead some of my people into a new land. You will be the ruler of this new place, you will find new ways for elves to live, such as are suitable for this Age of Men.’ And the King turned to the elder princes, and said, ‘You, yn-nin, because you would not leave this Forest, I say you will be rulers of that part of my land which is to become one with the enchanted wood of the Galadhrim – but only when their Lord allows it.’ And the elder princes resented such a doom, for they trusted and liked the Galadhrim not at all – but we, we Silvans, were pleased, for we were not always loved by those elder princes.”

Well, Caradhil thinks, if only. Oh my sweet prince, if only that was how it was. And he turns his mind away from thoughts of that King, as he has long learnt to do, for there is only pain to be found there.

“But the youngest prince, he went to his loyal servant, his friend, and said, ‘oh my friend, and friend of all my days, what shall I do, for now I am home, where I have so longed to be, I find my heart is not happy, and I wish for more, yet – in truth I know not what it is I need.’ And the friend looked at the prince, and he could see, for he was wise in the ways of the heart, that this prince was no longer whole, and he said, ‘then shall I take you to the city of Men, and thence onwards to the land which your Father has set out for you, and perhaps in that journeying you shall learn to understand your heart, and we shall find who it is that you need.’ And the prince blushed, for at those words, he began to understand himself.”

Caradhil, who has begun to recognise himself, twisted though the story is, cannot but smile, to hear that he is so wise, yet – tears there are within him, as he reflects how slow he was to know his own heart.

“Did they go to the city of Men, Ada?”  
“Did they?”

“Yes, of course they did. And in that city they found the One, the dwarf, for he too was there, searching in his own way, for his heart had also spoken and said to him that there was no peace to be found in any mountain, any cave where the prince was not. Then, when those two looked upon each other’s face again, both understood at last, and all was spoken, and not spoken, and need not be spoken between them, and they exchanged combs and vows, in the way of all lovers. Then did they change their braids, and show all how it was between them – and the King of Men was joyous for them, even as they had been glad for him at his wedding.”

Caradhil twitches his nose, though none can see. Oh indeed, he thinks, the king of men was joyous. In private. In public though, ah in public, how he wounded my sweet prince with his wish for – discretion. He smiles, what fools Men are, as though any Silvan can be discreet in love – and my prince, oh how my prince was one of us in that way.

“And so it came to pass that for the many years of a dwarf’s life, the prince and his love would not be parted. That they would spend time in the land of the elves, and time in the land of the dwarves, and each ruled his own land, and yet each was acclaimed consort in the land of the other –“

“And – and Ada-of-us-all ruled in the land of the elves – did he not?”

“Yes, indeed he did, as regent for the prince when he was away, and in those years of peace was your Daerada born, and his sister, and many, many elflings, all fair and joyous. And in that land of the elves, many things changed, for Silvans learnt we can rule ourselves, we can make decisions, we can change things if we so choose. For we saw how the prince had changed his fate, and we thought – this we can do. 

“But, one day, one day, it became clear to the prince that the doom of mortals was approaching his dwarf, his love, and so he said, ‘now, now we will sail across the sea, for I have it in my mind to see that Western shore, to walk the hills, to sing to the trees, to taste those fruits’, yet many said unto him, ‘but, prince, why would you do this? Why would you leave your love now at his end, when if you but waited, you might see him gently into the Halls of Aule, and then follow your sea-longing?’ Then the prince answered them, ‘but I would see nothing, were my love not by me, for without him, there is no light in my sky, no song in my heart, and I shall not abide, neither here nor on that further shore, but I shall follow him until I find him again, and rest at his side, as I ever have since the day we confessed our love.’

“And the elves watched, with grief, and yet also with a sort of joy, as these two sailed away, onwards to that land where only elves may go. Yet, for love, the prince took this dwarf with him, for all elves are ruled only by their hearts, and that is the truth of our people.”

“Not Ada-of-us-all.”  
“No, Ada-of-us-all says we must listen to our hearts, but be ruled by our heads.”

Caradhil bows his head, he has said that. To his shame, he has used those words. He waits, to hear the judgement on him of two of those he loves most in all the world.

“Well, Ada-of-us-all is – a very special elf. He – he has never loved in that way. He loves us, his children and grandchildren, he loves our people, he loves our land. He has never loved One.”

And – that his son, his son, should believe that – oh, my son – how I have lied to you. Yet – it was only ever to give you strength. What else could I do? You needed me to be strong, and I would not have you see me brought so low as love brought me, lest you, like your sister, begin to pity me. 

But the elflings are impatient,  
“And then?”  
“What then?”  
“When they reached the Blessed Realm?”

“When they reached the Blessed Realm, all was well. All was beautiful, and many friends they found there, elves they had known long ago, and the mother of the prince, who had known him not, for she sailed when he was but a tiny elfling, being wounded in her mind and heart, that mother he had never known, was there to greet him, and oh what joy there was that day.”

Caradhil wonders. He will never know, it is not his place to know, but – he wonders.

“But – the dwarf – Gimli as he was known – he was but a mortal still. And, joyful though those years were, they ended. The dwarf died, as mortals do.”

“Why?”  
“Why, Ada? Was he hurt?”  
“Was there a battle?”

“No. I said. He was mortal. Mortals die, without hurt, without battle, they come to an end and die. And they do not visit Mandos for a short while, and then become reborn, they die forever. I know not, no elf knows, what happens to Men or Halflings – they leave the circles of this world, and we will not meet them again, unless Iluvatar wills it one day in the changed world. But dwarves – dwarves go to the Halls of Aule, who is the creator of dwarves, and there they are charged to work for him and perfect their craft, that one day, when Iluvatar wills it, when the Second Song comes, they may help him in his work of making the world anew.

“And so Gimli, son of Gloin, died. And, in that hour, the fea of Legolas – for that was the name of the prince – his fea left him, and he was empty, lost, for he had not his love by his side. And, as he had long vowed to do, he laid beside his dwarf, in the place of stone where his love had found his rest, and breathed no more. For he desired only to follow his love.”

Caradhil is about to move, supposing the story has ended, but,

“Then the spirit of Legolas found its way, as elves do, to the Halls of Mandos, and he looked at the Lord, and said to him, ‘Lord, I mean no disrespect to your realm, but this is not where I should be.’ The Lord looked at him, and smiling gently said, ‘oh little elfling, little prince, no-one thinks they should be here. Not at first. And perhaps, if you are patient, I will find a time for you to be reborn, for in life you were greatly valiant.’ 

“But Legolas looked down, and bit his lip, and then with great difficulty, he said, ‘no Lord, that is not it. I – I do not desire to be reborn, for there is nothing in the world for me to return to. I – I would leave your Halls, and go – go to the Halls of your brother, Aule, for one of his children is my love, and I – I can be nowhere but by his side.’ 

“Mandos looked at the prince, and he thought, and after a time, he said, ‘Well, if this is indeed what you are determined on, then perhaps a way can be found. But for an elf to leave my Halls he must show that he is truly following his heart, and so I set you a test. I say to you, that if you can follow the call of your love, through my Halls, and to the Gates of the Halls of my brother, without being turned aside, nor answering any who dwell here with me, whatever words you may hear, whatever face you may see, whatever longing you may feel – then, and only then, may you ask my brother for entry to his Halls where your beloved now dwells. But, little prince, if you turn aside, or answer, or reach out to any here – then, then you will be mine for as long as I deem is right. Do you accept this test?’

“And Legolas looked into the eyes of Mandos, and found there no scorn, no desire to see him fail, only love, and a desire for him to find what was right for him, and so, understanding that even the question was part of the test, he did not answer, but began to walk, following the call of his heart.”

Caradhil is motionless, as only an elf can be motionless, caught now in the spell of the tale.

“That was a long and dark path, for those Halls are not to be wandered in lightly. Then indeed, did Legolas, Thranduilion, elf though he was, then did he begin to understand the fear of the Dead that holds mortals in thrall. Then did he regret his heedless words to his love – before he knew him for his love – when they rode that Dark Path of the Dead under the Mountain, the Oathbreakers, so long ago, during that Great Quest. For on each side of him he could hear and see the shades of elves long dead, calling to him, reaching for him. And some there were that called him false elf, kin-betrayer, fey, stained, for they saw his jewels that he wore in honour of his love, they saw the inking he bore in token of the love between them –“

“What sort of inking?”  
“But all elves have inkings?”  
“Why did they not like his jewels? All elves love jewels.”

Explain that one, Caradhil thinks, wryly, explain that to these elflings.

“Long ago, elves did not have inkings, for they were a custom of mortals, and we did not understand their purpose. Long ago, it was deemed unwise for an elf to wear more than one or two jewels, for the beauty of such things was blamed for the hatred and evil that greed causes. These were elves from such days, these were cold Noldor, and they did not understand what they saw.

“But the prince heard their words not, for he listened only for the call of his love, he turned not to answer them, he seemed not even to see them in their anger and hatred of all that he was. He walked on.

“Then he came to another part of those Halls, and it was very beautiful, there were trees, or the likeness of trees, growing everywhere, and from them called the voices of Galadhrim, and they too were full of unkind words. They called him fool, to believe in the love of a dwarf, they called him disobedient for they knew he had ignored the warning from their Lady, long before, they called him proud and stubborn when he turned not to look at them. Yet on the prince walked, paying no heed to their insults, seeking only his beloved.

“Before long, the trees changed, and they were trees he had known, some of them, trees he remembered from when he was but a little elfling like you. Trees who had ever been his friends, when there were few others to rely on. Yet, he did not stop to greet them, sad though he was to pass them by, for he listened only for the call of his love.

“Among those trees were the shades of Silvans, and some called out to him, recognising him, often in love, for they held this prince in a special place in their hearts. ‘Come and sit with me, Legolas, my princeling, come and tell me of your life since I came here, for I it was who was there when you were give your first bow, I it was who saw your first arrows, and I would hear of the mighty archer you became.’ But for all his love for this elf, for all his wish to thank him, the prince must walk on, seeking his beloved.”

Oh my dear Brethylf, Caradhil thinks, oh my dear.

“Another, ‘Come and sit with me, Legolas, tell me why you left the one I loved so, why you could not be to him what I was not.’ and that rebuke hurt the prince, for he never meant to come between these two, yet now he could not explain, could not beg forgiveness, could only walk on, seeking still his beloved.”

Oh Aglarcu, can you really not forgive me? I hoped – how I hoped you would have found peace.

“And another, ‘Legolas, come sit with us, be an elf among elves again, here where no dwarf is needed.’ meaning no harm, yet causing pain, for the prince could not bear the idea of an existence without the one who was all to him, but he could not stop to rebuke, to defend love and so he walked on, seeking his beloved.”

Oh my foolish Finrusc. Never did you learn to think before you spoke.

“Then once more the landscape changed, and it became the dream of a beautiful meadow, dotted with groves of trees, yet full of sunlight. This was the place of the Sindar, and there were but few who spoke to the prince, yet this was hardest of all to pass by. Again there were insults, and again the prince paid them no heed, for what did these long-dead shades of ancestors know of his heart? 

“But then one came to him, one who looked into his face, and to Legolas it was like to a mirror, and yet he knew him not until he spoke. ‘Brother, at last, at last, you have come, and I shall have company here for all the weary time until the world is renewed. Stay with me, will you not tarry here, tell me of your life, of our home, for I miss the world, I miss our Forest, I miss our parents – foolish though they are – and I find I even miss our brothers – teasing and hurtful as their words sometimes were.’ For this was the first born of our Sindar King, this the one who died in battle, before our King was King, before the prince was born, before –“

“Not before Ada-of-us-all was born though, he remembers him, does he not?”

“Yes, yes he does. But – I would not ask him to relive those memories if I were you.

“Anyway, this did indeed tempt the prince, for never had he known this brother, and in truth, never had he found in those brothers he knew the love that siblings should hold one for another. That love which is shown by combing, by caring, by _not arguing_.”

Caradhil smiles. That is a special line added to the tale, he suspects.

“But, the prince remembered what the Lord of those Halls had said. He must not turn aside, he must not answer, and though he longed, how he longed to take comfort, to give comfort to this long-desired brother, he dared not. For his beloved was all to him, and he knew, how he knew, that his love waited for him, and he must find a way, as he had sworn to do, he must not fail now. And so, tears in his eyes, he kept walking, leaving the lonesome one to his sorrow, to his terror of pain which keeps him from rebirth.

“Then at last, at long last, the prince reached the further side of those dark Halls, and there – there was a gate. And once more, the Lord Mandos stood before the gate, but this time, he smiled at the prince, and said, ‘Indeed, little elfling, you have passed the test. For my part, I will let you go this way, should you choose to continue. But, little princeling, if you leave my Halls now, you may not return, and I cannot speak for my brother. The Lord Aule may allow you entrance, he may not, and if he chooses not, you will be left, forever between the Halls, floating, and calling out for your love in the dark of emptiness until the world is made anew and the Second Song begins. Therefore I ask you again, are you sure this is your desire? To leave these Halls in this way? And I offer you again the peace of a time here, before being reborn, to a life in the Blessed Realm, a life that would offer you balm for all the hurts you took in childhood before.’ 

“The prince looked at the Lord, and he shook his head. ‘For me, Lord, there is no choice,’ he said quietly, ‘my fea is not my own. I need my beloved, I must follow where he has gone. And if I am not with him, I fear it will make little difference to me whether I am here with you, reborn in supposed joy or squeaking and crying in the dark. Let me go, I beg you.’ And Mandos sighed, for he loves all elves, and would have us content, and he feared for the fate of this stubborn prince, but he opened the gate, and the prince walked through, still following the call of his beloved.”

Caradhil is transfixed, he cannot but want to hear the rest of this, even though there is pain, to know that it will be the ending his prince deserved, even though he does not see how any can know. Caradhlas pauses, waiting, he supposes, for the elflings to look sufficiently eager.

“No words there are to describe that journey, from one Hall to another, from one Gate to the Next, yet through that outer blackness, that darkness where no Lord comes, the spirit of the prince journeyed, ever following the call of his beloved, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Doubtless he passed by the Gates of the Halls of Yavanna, where Entwives and Ents dwell, reunited at last, and perhaps that gave him hope, that he too would be with his beloved again, that love does not end with death. Yet he dared not turn aside to look, he must go on, through that whirling void, seeking the only one who could make him whole, seeking his soul’s mate. Who can tell how long that journey took, how to count such time, there where there is no dwarven-clock, no seasons, no years of sun or ages of stars? It took as long as it took, and there is an end. 

“The prince came to the Gate of the Halls of Aule, and there he knelt, waiting for the Lord of that realm to speak to him. When the Lord came, great he was, strong and terrifying in his majesty, and little compassion he showed, for he is not one to love elves, not Sindar elves, for never have they wished to learn his craft, being of a kind that wishes for power over hearts and minds, not over metals. ‘What mean you, coming here, elf?’ he asked, ‘What can one of the first-born wish for from me and mine?’ and even his voice was great, and terrifying to one so long used to the musical tones of elves. 

“Yet the prince was filled with a courage seen only in such desperate need, and he took hold of the necklace he wore, gifted by his love, for such comfort as might be found there, and then, lifting up his eyes to the great Lord – “

And flushing, and biting his lip, if I know anything of my sweet prince, Caradhil adds in the privacy of his head.

“ – he said, ‘Lord, I come to beseech you in your wisdom to be kind and merciful, to one who loves a child of yours beyond all else. For he is dead, he is here with you, and I – I cannot be without him, I love him so. Please, Lord, I vowed to him that I would follow him, that I would come to him, and – and indeed I would be here even had I not, for I am nothing without him.’

“Then the Lord looked at him once more, and said, ‘But what would you have, elf, for I cannot give him life again to return to your world?’

“And the prince coloured, and looked down, shaking his head and saying, ‘Truly Lord, I am no Luthien to ask for such a thing. I – I have left my life, I wish only to be allowed to follow him, to be with him in your Halls, until such time as the world changes, and all things are different.’

“ ‘Indeed,’ said the Lord, ‘elf, why should I grant you this? What can you give me? How shall your love work, if you are by his side – would I not have more skill, more time from him were I to keep you here, a gift he might win by his toil, one day? And, last but not the least of my questions, how can I know that this child of mine would truly be glad to see you, that you were not merely a plaything of his leisure hours, but a love with whom he would spend all the years of waiting?’

“Now such questions may sound harsh, but they were but asked in honesty – for that is the way of Aule and his children. They have not the skill to speak soft and clothe their thoughts in honeyed words, yet in that honesty is their truth, their steadfastness, and a dwarf’s word is his bond, he will stand and fall by it. And in all his years of love, the prince had learnt this, and so he was not more daunted by such speech, but instead began, carefully, and with equal honesty to answer.

“ ‘Lord, you might grant me this, merely for kindness, for the understanding of love which one married so long to such a one as the Lady Yavanna must have. Yet, you ask what I can give you – and I can only answer – grant me this, and I will give you all I have, such as it now is. I know not what service an elf can offer you, yet I will serve you in any way I can, for I know all must work in these Halls. I have little – no – skill with craft of any kind; in my life I was warrior, hunter, tracker, for I am a wood-elf, and these are skills not needed here. Yet – I did learn a little penmanship, I can write and draw, I can sing, as can any elf, I know many tales and hence I – I have spent many hours when my love was busy amusing such dwarrowlings as were in his realm, and – oh Lord, I have no pride, I will object to no labour, only allow me to be with my love again. Beyond this, I will give you all these jewels, crafted so skilfully by my love, for much though I value them, I value his company far more.’ And the prince began to remove all his jewels, and lay them at the feet of the Lord, who looked on in silence. Many there were, and beautiful they were, gold and mithril, set with sapphires, worth more than any ransom of any King. Necklaces, bracelets, ear-cuffs, anklets, hairpieces, a belt, cloak-pins, even – even he laid down his comb, elf though he was, for that was jewelled and crafted from mithril also – many they were indeed, but at last the prince stopped. Then the Lord made a small gesture, and the prince spoke again, ‘Lord, as you see, I have not taken off these last, this necklace, this bracelet, for in truth, I cannot. Welded closed they are, and although they would have broken to save my life in battle, I cannot remove them now. Yet I say again, if you would have them, they are yours – take them, as I doubt not that you can – only allow me to be with my love again.’

“Then the prince looked again at the face of the Lord, and spoke once more, ‘Lord, if these please you not, then I think you are unlikely to find pleasure in anything my love creates in your forges, keep me here or send me to him as you will. In answer to your question, if these were what he made me in his leisure hours, as a pleasure to himself to dress me in them, though I waited at his side, at his call, for him to come to me, then I think you can believe I have the patience to distract him not from his work, elf though I am. Indeed, through the years I have loved him, watched him at his work; always I have understood that without it he would be no true dwarf, it makes him what he is, and though I am not created that way, I honour it in him.’ The prince looked down at the display before him, ‘and Lord, I cannot say whether he would work better if I were not here. I can only leave it to you to judge, and to consider which is kinder.’

“Again the prince looked up into the face of Aule, and continued, ‘As to your last question, Lord, even as you can see I bear his name on me, so does he bear mine, which I hope means something. He holds my fea; I am not, and cannot be, complete without him, though I understand this speaks more of my love than of his. I – I have in my keeping, the knowledge of his true-name, such as a dwarf gives only to his One.’ 

“Aule looked down at the prince, and his face softened, for he saw that indeed, this elf did truly love one of his children, and know and value him for himself, as all wish to be known and valued. ‘Elf though you are, I say you may enter my Halls, but there is a test. If you are to stay, I must know that there will be peace in this land, I must know that you can speak the soft answer that turns away wrath, so I say to you, you may make your way to where your beloved is, and if any speaks anger to you I charge you to offer him only peace and goodwill. Further, I must know that you speak truth, that you will not distract my child from his work, and so I say to you, when you find where your beloved is, I charge you to but kneel and wait. Should he ask for you by name, should he admit he needs you, longs for you, then you may go to him – but until then, you must hold your silence.’ For Aule thought these were two things no elf could do, to offer sweet words to an insulting dwarf, and to stay silent when he wished to speak.

“But the prince bent his head in acknowledgement of the test, and then entered through the Gate. What that Hall is like, no elf – save that one – can fully know or imagine, but beautiful it was in a way like unto the most sculpted caves this world has to offer. Full it was of dwarves, like as to the realm of Erebor, dwarves intent on their own concerns, not even seeing the elf. And the prince found that even here, he could feel his beloved calling for him, and he followed that call, unerringly making his way through the crowds. 

“Whether it was by the will of the Lord Aule, or whether it was just chance, who can tell, but none seemed to notice the prince, and he in turn recognised none of them – until – when he could at last feel his love was close, from out of the crowd a voice spoke. ‘What is this, this spawn of the faithless elven-king, what does he here?’ and for an instant, the prince closed his eyes, wishing that a long ago mistake need not come back to haunt him one more time, wishing that in these Halls too he need merely stay silent. But such was not his test, and instead he turned to see a dwarf he remembered all too well, Thorin Oakenshield, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, a dwarf he once imprisoned, staring at him in hatred as bright now as it was that day.

“For a long moment there was silence, but of all the dwarves around them, none answered the dead King, and the prince understood he must speak. ‘I am here, not as son to my father, but as a helpless supplicant, craving only to find my true-love. I – in truth, for these many years, I have regretted my actions, I have known I was wrong in my behaviour towards you, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, and I ask your – your pardon, or at least your understanding that the elf I am now would not act in such a way. In those days, I was young, by the count of elves, and foolish, and knew nothing of the world, nor of the honour and quality of dwarves.’ Seeing the wrath still in the eyes of the King, the prince knelt, once more humbling himself, and continued, ‘Hate me, condemn me if you will, but know that if you do, if you cannot find it in your heart to let me pass in peace, my beloved, Gimli son of Gloin must spend the Years of Waiting alone. And that is a harsh fate for one who brought so much honour to your people.’

“Then it seemed that Thorin would have said more in his anger, but that one came to him, and took him by the arm, and spoke softly in his ear, and suddenly there was a group of dwarves surrounding the dead King, and much discussion. The prince knelt there, waiting, wondering what was said, for it was impossible even for an elf to hear, the Halls of Aule being a noisy place, with all the work that is done there. After a time, the King turned back to him, and now he looked old, and tired, and resigned, and he said ‘It seems I am to accept your apology, for those of my company who met you in your later years say I am wrong to resent your youthful folly. One indeed of my company claims you as his son-by-vowing, claims you should be welcome here for his sake, not just that of his much-renowned son. Besides, who am I to turn away one who seeks his love, as perhaps I should have spent more time doing in all my years of life? Who am I to condemn another dwarf to misery, when I know too well what grief for love unspoken can be?’ and the pain in his eyes as he turned away was clear for all to read.”

“Who, Ada?”  
“Who did the dwarf-king love?”  
“Why do some love one who loves them not?”  
“Why is it so?”

Caradhil listens, but it seems none is sure of the true love of this dwarf, only that there was great love, and it was thrown away, burnt as an offering on the altars of greed and pride.

“As to why – as well ask why some never meet their One. Perhaps if all were content, the world would not follow the path set down. Imagine, if Ada-of-us-all had been content in love, imagine how things in our land would be different.”

Caradhil does not hear the differences his son, his grandson, his great-grandchildren recite, he feels only the stab of pain, as hard, as brutal now as ever it was, that he is not loved, has never been loved in that way.

“Anyway, the dead king turned away from the prince, and allowed him past, understanding now that love is worth more than any feud, any hatred, any bitterness. Then the prince came at last to that forge where his love was working, crafting at some piece of metal, who knows what it was, for I do not. And remembering the words of the Lord Aule, the prince knelt outside the forge, and began to wait once more.

“That indeed was a long and weary wait, for the hearts of dwarves are stubborn and proud, and they like not to admit their need, their grief, their loneliness. But the prince had faith in his beloved, and so he knelt there, waiting, much though he longed to go to him, to hold him in his arms again, to see that dear face, to touch his ears, and run his fingers through his hair, even as his love would hold and touch him. Words he longed to say rose to his lips, and each must be swallowed down, lest he be cast out, away from his beloved for all the years until the world is changed. Hard it is for any elf to be silent when they wish to speak, hard it is for any lover to hear their One in sadness – for although he would not own it, the dwarf was miserable, and the prince knew it, by the way he clattered his tools, by the way he breathed. Yet, the prince stayed there, still as the stone from which dwarves were made, quiet as the rock from which they are carved, waiting.

“Who knows how time passes, in that place beyond the world, where dead dwarves work? I do not. Maybe it was but hours, maybe days, maybe even years in our count, for time passes differently there. Time passed. The prince waited, and yet still his beloved did not ask for him, and there was nothing more he could do. Yet, he thought to himself, even though I am not with him, I am within the same land, I hear him, I know his presence, and perhaps that is enough.”

“Ada!”  
“You cannot stop there!”  
“Ada! What then?”

“I will not stop there. Worry not. Yes. Thus it was that the prince had resigned himself to staying there, neither with his beloved nor apart, when there came another dwarf to the forge. The prince did not see, nor speak to this other, for all his being was concentrated now on his beloved, loving, longing as only elves can love and long for another. The dwarf entered in to the forge, and must have spoken, though the prince did not hear the words, quiet as they were. Then he heard the voice of his beloved, and he was angry, and he was hurting, and the pain in him tore through the prince as he waited there. ‘I cannot stop, I cannot rest, I cannot leave it. I must finish this. But I cannot, Amad. I – I cannot think, it is too quiet here, there is not his song.’”

If I know that dwarf, thinks Caradhil, even though he spoke to his mother, there were a fair few other words in that speech, ones you do not wish to teach your elflings, oh son of my son.

“And the prince must put his hand across his mouth, to stop himself from crying out, at the pain and despair in his beloved – yet he had not called him by name, and so he must wait. Again there were soft words from the other, and again his beloved answered, ‘I cannot, how can I? How can I think alone? How can I be as though I were whole when I am not? Leave me be, leave me alone.’

“And the prince must bite down on his knuckles, for he heard the hurt, the need, yet he could not go to him, could not bring comfort, and he must wait. Once more the other spoke soft words, and his beloved answered, ‘I know you know, I know you were alone after Adad came here – but – my pretty one said he would come, and I – I am afraid he is hurt or lost. He may need me, and I cannot go to his rescue. He is only an elf, what does he know of death?’

“And this time, the prince must hold onto the rock around him, that he not run to his beloved, for the care, the love in that voice was all to him, as it ever had been, yet his name was not spoken, the words for which Aule had bade him wait were not said, and so he must wait longer still. Yet again, the other spoke, and this time, this time, his beloved must have cast down his tools, by the sound, and now, now he was at the door, seeking strength and patience by gripping the rock of which the cave was made, turned away from the one he spoke to as he ground out, ‘What foolishness is this? Amad, how can you ask? You know who I wait for, who I long for, who I need more than ever silence needed song; I need my love, my other half of my soul, my daft elf, my Legolas.’

“And now, now the prince at last could move, at last could throw himself into those arms, could be held, held with the strength of a dwarf, not in his aged wisdom, as last he saw him, not in his prime, as first he knew him, but in his youth and full strength, yet with the wisdom and compassion of later years, for in those Halls all are as the truth of their hearts shows them; the prince himself was golden and glowing as when first they two were vowed. 

“Then those two were together again, their hands at last reaching for ears, their fingers running through hair, the prince’s song rising more joyful than any has sounded in those Halls before that day. And never again shall they be parted, for when Aule saw how it was, he understood, and he rejoiced for his child that all was well with him. 

“Thus it is that of all the elves who have left the world, only one has truly died, died as an elf, not become mortal, but died and gone not merely to the Halls of Mandos, but beyond, to the Halls of Waiting, the Halls of Aule, and there, he does such tasks as an elf can do in that realm, while he waits for his beloved. For his beloved must work, wishes to work, for he is a dwarf and in his work he praises his creator who has made all well for them both, that they may have all the leisure hours they care for together, from now until the world is made anew. And in that Second Song, they shall also be together, whatever, and whoever they be then, for such love cannot be parted.”

 

There is silence.

Caradhil waits until the elflings are being taken to their beds, and then approaches at last.

“Ion-nin,” he says, “ion-nin, I heard the tale. The Elf who Died.”

“Ah,” Taithel flushes, “I – I am sorry Ada. I did not – we did not know you were there.”

Caradhil shrugs, “Why would you keep it from me? I – I am glad to hear such a fitting end for my sweet prince. Did – did you make it?”

Taithel looks at him,  
“I? No, that is how they tell it in Ithilien, they heard it from Aglarond, and I believe it is told in Erebor also. And in this Forest too. We – we just thought – it might hurt you. I remember the prince, I remember his dwarf, I – I would not have you hurt again, Ada.”

Caradhil sighs,  
“Not you also? You listened too well to your mother. I never loved him in that way,” but he can see he does not convince. And he has not the heart to explain. He smiles, instead, and ruffles his son’s hair, strokes his ear, as he did when Taithel was but an elfling, when there was but one inking on his own arm, when Caradhlas and his elflings were not even dreamt of. “I think – I think the end might be different were it not told to small elflings though?”

Taithel laughs, pleased to be forgiven for his presumption,  
“Indeed. I think Gimli would use many words they are too young to hear. And – I think the prince’s voice would rise not just in song – they were never quiet in their love, were they?”

Caradhil catches his eye, and remembers the voice,  
“Ach, it was not his bloody fault, he was but a daft sodding elf with no restraint.”

And, as Taithel leans against him, he thinks, but I, I am Caradhil. I will keep the secrets of history, keep the legend locked inside, and let the myth remain.

Nothing that should not be forgotten will be lost.

This I can do.

**Author's Note:**

> Telemachus has email! this handle dot arcadia at gmail. so come & say hi, if you are nice......


End file.
